


Two Fathers, Two Sons

by ozsaur



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Children, Community: oz_magi, Gift Fic, Holiday Fic Exchange, Kidnapping, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5794498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/pseuds/ozsaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gary and Holly survive their ordeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Fathers, Two Sons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sydpenguinbunny](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sydpenguinbunny), [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



> Thank you Trillingstar for the beta. Thanks also to my husband for the final polish.
> 
> Written for Sydpenguinbunny for Oz Magi 2015.

“Tell your dad we're done. Quits. Tell him not to call me again.”

“Sure, man.” Hank pulled a beer out of the cheap cooler that sat next to the only chair in the room and held it out. “Want a beer?”

The man sneered at Hank, then turned and walked out, the door banging shut behind him.

“Suit yourself,” Hank said, putting the beer back in the cooler.

There were some muffled sounds from downstairs in the basement. The front door slamming must have scared the little brats. Hank didn't care. He walked across the room and pounded his fist against the basement door.

“Shut the fuck up down there!”

Hank listened for a minute but there was only silence. Grinning, Hank went over and flopped into the chair, an old, plaid easy chair that smelled musty and had a footrest that didn't work any more. He squirmed around until he was comfortable, then reached over the arm of the chair to grab a beer out of the cooler. He popped the cap and threw it at the corner of the room where there was a small pile that, if Hank had anything to do about it, would become a great big pile before the job was done.

Propping his heel on a cardboard box, Hank took a long drink of beer. It was getting dark outside, deepening the shadows in the room. Soon, he'd have to get up and light one of the lanterns he'd brought, but only one. He wasn't sure how long he'd have to wait out here for his father's next order, and he wasn't about to waste a lantern on lighting up the basement. The brats were going to have to deal with the dark.

Taking a long pull on the beer, Hank settled back to relax. The only thing this place needed was a TV, but since there was no electricity, there was no point in thinking about it. 

Earlier, he'd dug through the boxes scattered around the one-room cabin hoping to find something worth selling, or at least something more interesting to look at than that crappy painting of some trees, but they were full of nothing but junk. It was stupid leaving a bunch of useless junk out here instead of tossing it. Even the painting was stupid; why would you put a painting of trees on the wall when the cabin was surrounded by them? Stupid.

The cabin was remote. It was just off a badly rutted dirt road nearly a mile from the main road leading into town. The town was ten miles away, which was another twenty-five miles from any major city. No one was going to find this place unless it was by accident, and who the hell would look for him out here? Anyway, no one even suspected that he was involved in the kidnapping, so whoever was searching for the kids wouldn't even to know to look for him.

Hank finished off his first beer, and reached for another, sighing in satisfaction. This had been one of the easiest jobs he'd ever done, and if he'd known that kidnapping some rich asshole's kids was so profitable, he'd have done it a lot sooner. 

Then again, he hadn't really done much. His father had given him the number of the guy who had done the actual grab. Hank had watched the rich guy's house, followed the kids to their school a couple of times, and figured out their general schedule. His father had told him about the cabin, so Hank hadn't even had to do that much. It was the perfect job: driving around in his car, remembering a few details, talking things over with that asshole friend of his dad's, then just kicking back with some beer until the money came in.

He was going to walk away from this with a wad of dough, and an easy life for at least the next few months. Carrie had been dropping hints, and she'd mentioned a doctor's appointment, so Hank could really use the cash right now if Carrie was knocked up like he suspected. 

If this job didn't pay out as much he expected, Carrie's news would sure as hell bring in a nice chunk of change. Vern would go nuts over a new grandbaby to carry on the Schillinger name. That is, if the baby turned out to be Hank's. He'd put Carrie out a few times when money got tight, but she always said she'd been careful. You couldn't trust girls, but as long as the baby wasn't the color of burnt toast, he could make it work.

Hank shrugged, and started on another beer. Things would work out one way or another. They always did for him. He wasn't like Andy who'd always had to argue with good ole dad. You got a lot farther in life just by smiling, and being agreeable. 

Hank set his beer down on the floor next to the chair, and started to get up. It was twilight, and the room was deeply shadowed, so better light the lantern before it was too dark to find the damned thing. 

He swayed a little as he stood. He wasn't a lightweight, but he hadn't eaten all day, so the beer was hitting him harder than usual. He should probably feed the brats, but there was no point in wasting food if his dad decided he wanted them dead and buried.

There was another sound from downstairs. Damn it! What were they up to now? 

Suddenly, the window next to him shattered. There was a loud bang, and Hank put his hands over his ears as smoke filled the room. Coughing, tears streaming down his face, Hank stumbled toward the front door. With a resounding crack, the door flew open, and the smoke-filled room was lit by the last remnants of the day. Then the light dimmed again as the doorway was filled with bulky figures coming at him.

“Get down! Get down! On your knees! Hands above your head!”

Well, fuck.

* * *

Toby swiped his sweaty hands on his jeans as he paced. He was thankful that Sister Pete had arranged for him to have the children's visiting room to himself. This would be his first time to see them for months.

The child psychologist had insisted that the prison was no place for two damaged children, and Toby had agreed. His mother had not. If she'd had her way, he would have seen the Gary and Holly as soon as they were found. But she'd listened to the therapist, and Toby's father, and kept them away from Oz.

Eventually, she'd decided that the benefits of bringing them to Oz to see Toby far outweighed the dangers, and they would be there any minute.

Toby paused, and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Would they remember him? Of course they would, but… It had been a long time. Would they be scared of him? Scared to be in Oz? If so, he resolved himself to a brief visit. He couldn't stand the idea of hurting his kids any more. As much as he loved, and missed them, he had to do what was right for them.

Toby was facing the wide picture window when he saw Keller strutting along the corridor with an arm flung around one of his wives. Kitty? Angelique? Yeah, Angelique, the brunette. Keller didn't even glance in at Toby, and Toby couldn't bring himself to care. 

People had been walking back and forth outside the room the whole time he'd been there. He'd tried to adjust the blinds, but like everything else in the room, they were old and beat up, and his fiddling only made things worse. He hated that he wouldn't have any privacy with his children. He might have this room for his family, but anyone walking toward the main visiting rooms could look in. 

Unable to stop himself, Toby started pacing again, so he didn't see his family until they were nearly to the door.

“Oh my God,” Toby said, heart thundering in his ears.

The door opened, and Toby sank to his knees, arms flung wide.

“Daddy!” Holly squealed, running to him.

Toby hugged her tight with one arm, leaving the other open, and ready. Gary hung back, his face buried against his grandmother's side. 

“Gary?” Toby said.

Then Gary was there too, safe in his arms. Toby held onto them for dear life.

* * *

Chris leaned against the wall next to the big picture window looking into the children's playroom. The wonky blinds gave him a perfect view of the family while giving him a blindspot to hide in. If Toby looked up, which he never did, he wouldn't know that Chris was there. It still burned a hole in his guts that Toby had thought for even a second that he'd ever hurt his children. 

If any of the hacks came along, he'd look damned suspicious, but he had to see them, the family together, even if it meant a trip to Ad Seg.

At first glance, everything looked fine. Toby looked better than fine, he was lit up, almost glowing with happiness. He knelt on the floor in front of a low table piled with art supplies: paper, pencils, blunt scissors, crayons. The children were on either side of him, like little blond bookends.

Toby's mother sat in a nearby rocking chair, smiling but occasionally dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. The little girl chattered up a storm, constantly tugging at Toby's arm for attention, pointing at her drawing, and offering him crayons. The boy never looked up from the picture he was working on.

Chris didn't know a single thing about kids, but he was an expert at sensing weakness, at seeing what was wrong or what was off about a situation, and figuring out how to exploit it. There was nothing in the tableau that he wanted to exploit, but his instincts went on alert. Something was wrong.

Chris watched longer than it was wise for him to be there. He saw Toby holding his kids, talking to them, but mostly listening. He saw the exact moment the smile slipped from Toby's face and he figured out what Chris already knew. 

“Chris?” A warm hand slid into the crook of his arm. “We really need to go now, Chris. I can't keep their attention for much longer.”

Angelique tugged him away from the window.

Chris gave her his most charming smile. “Now I can't believe that. You're too beautiful to ignore.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “They didn't ignore me, but there's only so long I can pose, and make eyes at the guards.”

“You did great, baby,” he said, walking her back to the visiting room.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” she asked.

“Nah, nothing important. The rest of the visit is all about you, beautiful. Tell me about your new boyfriend.”

Angelique laughed, and sat in his lap until the hacks came and made them break it up.

* * *

Toby wanted to punch every person walking past him in the corridor, hacks and inmates alike. He made it back to Em City without mishap, more because he was carrying a stack of pictures made by Holly and Gary, and he didn't want to ruin them, than because he was afraid of getting into trouble.

He made it to his pod safely, and climbed into the top bunk. Legs dangling off the side, he hunched over the pictures. All of them were made by Holly, except for the one on top. Holly's pictures were all blue skies, and smiling yellow suns. Some of them had a red house, and big flowers, and some stick figures floating above the green grass. It squeezed his heart every time Holly had pointed at one of the bigger stick figures and said, “That one's you, Daddy!”

Gary had spent the entire visit working on one picture. It was entirely in black, the color so thick that the paper was stiff in his hands. There was one small clear area in the middle, with spikes of black pointing threateningly at the tiny sad face in the center of the picture. It had taken Toby a minute to realize the dots under the eyes were tears.

Rage filled him that his son felt that way, small, alone, and terrified; there would be years of therapy ahead, for Holly too. It looked like she had weathered the kidnapping well enough, but she now acted as a crutch for her older brother. 

He was able to talk privately with his mother while Sister Pete watched the kids. She had dropped hints about their condition during their phone calls, but she hadn't wanted to go into detail until they were face to face.

Gary hadn't spoken a word since the kidnapping. The only sound he made was screaming whenever he had a nightmare, which was often. He refused to sleep with the lights off, and would only sleep if Holly was there. His grandparents had moved an extra bed into her room for him.

In school, he didn't interact with the teacher or the other children, but seemed to be in a world of his own. The only person he respond to was Holly, and now Toby. The picture he'd drawn for Toby was the first sign that he might be reaching out to someone other than his sister.

While he loved that Gary was at least tentatively trying to connect with him, he hated that it was even necessary. He'd done this to his son. He was the one who'd brought Schillinger into their lives. He was the one who'd stubbornly refused to listen to Keller's advice to not try and do a good thing for Schillinger, a man who had neither asked for, nor deserved, any damn thing from Toby.

Toby had listened to Said's words of forgiveness, of being the better man, and where had that gotten him? His guilt over Andy's death had made him act like a complete fool. What did he have to be guilty about, anyway? No matter the plan, he hadn't touched a hair on Andy's head. If the rumors were true, Schillinger himself had paid a hack to give Andy the drugs knowing that he'd overdose.

He should have listened to Keller. God, how could he have thought that Keller had anything to do with harming his children? Toby had been out of his mind with fear, worse than anything he'd ever felt in his life, but that was no excuse. His behavior toward Keller had been another fuck up in this whole mess.

He couldn't think about Keller right now. He had to think about Gary and Holly, and what was best for them right now. 

Toby stared down at the pictures, and resisted the urge to tear it to pieces. No, he needed it as a reminder: forgiveness was for the deserving. What Schillinger deserved had nothing to do with forgiveness. 

He looked through all the drawings one last time, smiling at Holly's happy world, gently touching the stick figures that represented him. His smile slipped away at Gary's picture. 

Sliding off the bunk, Toby went to the trunk where he kept his clothes. He smoothed the pictures out, then put them in the trunk with a couple of folded shirts on top to hide them from any casual snooping. He'd look at them again later, but right now he needed to think.

* * *

Chris made sure to get back to Em City first so he could have a front row seat to any drama Toby bring back from the visit with his family. Toby stomped in a few minutes after Chris, too bent on getting to his pod to notice the catcalls or the sympathetic looks from Rebadow's table in the quad.

When Toby got to his pod, he just sat there on his bunk, staring at some papers. It took a while for Toby to finally jump down, and go through the papers one last time. His smile was beautiful, but the last paper made him frown, fierce and angry. Then he put the papers in his trunk, and left his pod, looking more thoughtful than when he'd entered.

Chris left his own pod, and started to amble around Em City, occasionally stopping to shoot the shit for a few minutes, but steadily making his way to Toby's pod. He kept his eye out for Toby and the asshole he'd been sharing his pod with, making sure they didn't suddenly show up. No one noticed when he ducked right in.

It took less than a minute to find the papers, and move into the shadows at the back of the pod. Turned out, the papers were pictures drawn by Toby's kids. The one right on top made him raise his eyebrows, it was downright disturbing. All that thick, black color around the edges, and the sad face in the middle. Schillinger's asshole son really did a number on Toby's kid.

The other pictures were probably normal, but what did he know? They seemed happy enough, and he could see why they'd made Toby smile. Chris couldn't help but smile himself at the wobbly figures that had to be Toby, and the shaky letters spelling out Holly's name.

Putting the pictures back in order, Chris slid them back in the trunk. He slipped out of the pod, and meandered around for a bit, ending up sitting in a chair in his pod waiting for Toby to return.

* * *

His father had paid for a lawyer, but Hank might as well have had a lousy court-appointed one. Fat lot of good the shithead had done him - the asshole hadn't even gotten him bail, but that was more the cunt judge's fault. She called him a flight risk. That was true enough, but she didn't know that for a fact. He should have gotten bail just like everyone else.

After months of sitting in county jail waiting for his trial, he'd ended up taking a plea bargain. The lawyer had gone on and one about a trial being too high-risk, and that the prosecutor wanted to use Hank as an example, and throw the book at him.

The family of the kids he'd kidnapped (and technically, he hadn't actually done the kidnapping) were too powerful, had too many friends in high places, and had an entire law firm backing them up. 

The real problem was Hank. The lawyer had bluntly told him that having a skinhead for a father would all but guarantee a one way ticket to death row. Hank's criminal record wouldn't make a good defense any easier. A haircut, nice suit, and a pregnant Carrie weeping in the background might look good at first glance, but once the jury started hearing the facts, Hank better start hoping to get a life sentence instead of lethal injection.

It was a message from his dad that finally made him sign away the next ten years of his life. Take the plea bargain or get his own lawyer. Gee, thanks Dad.

* * *

Hank followed the hack down a murkily lit corridor. The place stank. County lockup had stank too, but Oz had its own special stench, like male sweat, and mildew, and like sunlight hadn't touched the place since the foundation was laid. It was enough to make his eyes water. Was he ever going to get used to this? Did he _want_ to get used to it?

Hank hefted the pile of crap they'd handed him after body cavity search. Blankets, pillow, and an aching asshole. Thanks again, Dad.

Swiping his nose against his shoulder, he blinked the water out of his eyes. It wouldn't do to look like a pussy his first day in Oz. Up ahead he heard the jingling of keys as the hack opened the door to his Unit, and wouldn't you know it was the same one as the old man's. Hank walked through, and tried to ignore the rattle and clank as the door slammed shut behind him. The hack moved to the side.

“Hello, son.”

* * *

Of course, it was Ryan O'Reily who brought him the news: Hank Schillinger was in Oz. Toby's first instinct was to run to Pancamo, and take a hit out on the bastard, but O'Reily had calmed him down long enough to listen to reason. 

There was a right way, and a wrong way to off somebody, and getting the Italians involved was by for the worst way. When the first flush of rage had cleared, O'Reily had slapped him on the shoulder, and said, “When you decide what you want to do, let me know.”

Yeah, like getting O'Reily involved was any better than the Italians.

After calming down, he realized there wasn't much he could do about either Schillinger. They were both housed in a different Unit, and surrounded by a wall of Aryan assholes. Toby wouldn't even get close.

Then there was Gary and Holly. They needed him. He'd already screwed up their lives by landing in Oz, and now he was at least partially responsible for what had happened with the kidnapping. There was nothing he could do on the inside if he wanted to help them. He couldn't afford to abandon them again for a personal vendetta.

The little bastard could live. For now.

* * *

Things were quiet. Too quiet. McManus had his smug face on, thinking that he had something to do with it, but anybody in Em City could have told him it was the calm before the storm.

Chris could feel the tension thrumming under the surface, and all of it focused on Toby. Money was already changing hands over when and how Toby was going to make his move. So far, Toby had kept his nose clean, staying in his pod when he wasn't going to his job, or seeing his family during visiting hours. 

Chris knew his Toby, though. Under the quiet, good boy surface was a powder keg ready to blow.

Heading toward O'Reily's pod, Chris figured it was time to put down a little money of his own.

* * *

“...and maybe a swastika on your arm...“

Hank pasted on a smile. His father could talk until he was blue in the face, but there was no way in hell Hank was going to get a fucking swastika tattooed on his body. No fucking way.

“...or maybe an eagle...”

His father kept yakking as he pretended to know what the hell he was doing with a pool cue. It seemed like every Aryan in the place was lounging around the pool table, nodding along with every word, bald heads gleaming, tattooed arms bulging out of their sleeves.

Hank had a few tattoos already, artistic ones that looked cool. All of these guys would shit if they knew that the son of the great Vern Schillinger had every one of his tattoos done by a black man. Hank wasn't about to mess himself up with some shitty prison ink. 

Pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against, Hank shouldered his way through the crowd.

“Where are you going?” Very asked, frowning.

“Gotta take a leak,” Hank replied.

Satisfied, his father went back to knocking balls around the table. Hank made it to his cell, and let his face relax for the first time in two fucking hours. If he'd had to stay there and listen to that bullshit for another minute, he might've picked up a pool cue and busted it across the old man's head. 

He went ahead and took a leak because the longer he delayed going back there the better. He took the time to thoroughly wash his hands, then splashed some cold water on his face.

Awww, fuck it. He wasn't going back there. 

He sat on the edge of his bunk, and pulled a porn magazine out from under his pillow. Carrie hadn't been too happy about bringing it, but she always did what he wanted. Just as predicted, his father had been thrilled by the news that he was going to be a grandfather, and had been giving Hank money to give to Carrie. Not that she got all of it, or even most. A man had needs, and porno could only do so much.

“'Sup?”

Hank hastily looked around. “You shouldn't be here,” he said.

“I checked before coming over, bro. Don't worry so much.”

Pushing the magazine back under the pillow, Hank stood up and fist bumped his friend. 

“You know damn well that if my father or one of his apes saw me talking to a brother, he'd kill us both.”

“There's nobody around. Chill. Anyway, got something for you.”

Trey reached into his pocket, and pulled something out, and handed it over, palm down. Hank let it drop into his own hand, and smiled, not looking at it, but knowing it by the feel. He sat on the bunk, and stowed the tits in his sock. He couldn't do anything during the day, not with so many eyes on him, but at night? Oh, yeah, he could at least relax at night.

“Thanks, man. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Trey said, “but next time...” he rubbed his fingers and thumb together.

Hank grinned. “All right, man, next time. But...” 

“Gotta go!” 

Trey disappeared. A minute later a bunch of Aryans filled the corridor like a herd of bald-headed bulls all heading in the same direction. 

“Time for lunch!” His father paused in the doorway, smiling as if he was looking forward to it.

“So what gourmet item do you think will be on the menu today?” Hank asked, standing up. “Chicken nuggets, or ham and cheese?”

Vern threw an arm around his shoulders, making Hank grind his teeth together behind his smile. That was another thing that was getting very, very old. All the touching.

“I don't know, son. But if we're lucky, maybe it'll be fish sticks!”

There was a burst of chuckles all around, as if that was the funniest thing Vern's peanut gallery had heard all year. 

“If it's fish sticks, you can have mine,” Hank said.

Vern laughed, smacking Hank on the back, sending him forward a couple of steps.

Jesus, night couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Toby usually didn't go to lunch this late in the day, but Sister Pete had kept him running all day hauling boxes to and from the musty old file room in the basement. She was gung-ho about a new project involving some of the elderly inmates. It was good to see her so enthusiastic, but it had been a lot of work. He was starving.

He spotted Rebadow, and gave him nod. Toby would have to tell him about the project, he might be interested in it. He saw Rebadow's eyes widen, and his mouth drop open a little. Toby turned to see what he was looking at.

There was a whole pack of Aryans crowding through the door with Schillinger right out front. He had his arm around the shoulders of some skinny, brown-haired kid. There was a definite resemblance to Andy. It had to be fucking Hank Schillinger.

His temples throbbed, and there was a roaring in Toby's ears. Every good intention he had disappeared in a haze of red.

* * *

Chris didn't even have a chance to stand up. Toby streaked across the room, and Schillinger, Hank, and the front line of Aryans went down like a bunch of bowling pins. Chris jumped up on the table to get a better view of Toby whaling away on Hank Schillinger like some demented thing.

“Go, Toby, go!” Chris screamed, then whistled, loud and strong.

Yells and whistles came from all over the cafeteria. More people were jumping up on tables to see the fight. Others were throwing food trays, and chairs. 

Hacks rushed around, trying to get at Toby, but there were too many Aryans tangled up on the floor. Schillinger was half under his son, and managed to get a couple of punches in on Toby, but Toby didn't seem to feel them. His fists came down on Hank like falling boulders in an avalanche. Even Schillinger Sr. got a couple of blows, but Toby kept most of his ire focused on Hank.

The hacks got through, and grabbed Toby, who was still screaming at the top of his lungs. He kicked, and writhed, and managed to get loose long enough to punch Hank in the gut. 

“Get 'em, Toby!” Chris yelled. 

One of the hacks finally had enough, and hit him in the back with his stick. Toby went down, bringing a round of booing and hissing from the inmates. Two more hacks dragged Toby out, while others tried to restore order.

Chris jumped off the table, grinning. Yep, that was Toby, trying so hard to be a good boy, but always showing his true colors in the end. Temperamental, little bitch. He could depend on Toby to liven up an otherwise dull afternoon.

Even better, he could collect the profit from his bet with O'Reily.

* * *

Toby went flying into the Hole, and hit the back wall. He'd been here often enough that he knew not to fight it, and just put his arms up to keep from getting knocked unconscious. He didn't bother getting up. 

He held his hands up, and looked at his bloody knuckles. Later, he'd feel the aches and pains of his own bruises, but right now he was still flying high on adrenaline, and triumph. Wildness was still drumming through his veins as Toby licked at the cuts on back of his hand. He hoped he'd knocked some of those pretty, white, Aryan teeth out of that monster's head.

He'd pounded the crap out of the man who'd hurt his kids. Memories flicked through his brain, and he savored every one of them. His mind caught on one, and he paused. 

Keller.

Keller standing on a table, arms raised and cheering. Keller had watched the whole thing. And apparently, got a kick out of it.

Well, well...

So maybe Keller wasn't as mad as he'd been all those months ago when Toby accused him of kidnapping his kids. Was he over it? Was he ready to forgive Toby, or had he just been enjoying the show?

Toby filed away that thought. He'd have plenty of time to consider it, in the Hole. 

He'd been seeing Gary and Holly every week for a month now. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't jeopardize that, but he'd blown it. He couldn't bring himself to feel sorry about it, at least not yet.

No matter his good intentions, he realized he couldn't live with that bastard taking up space in Oz - anywhere else for that matter. Toby needed to be able to tell Gary the monster that'd hurt him was dead and gone. The monster would never touch him again. 

Hank Schillinger needed to die.

* * *

Chris left O'Reily's pod with a nice wad of cash. O'Reily had bitched, but not too much; he'd made a mint off Toby, too. 

The good, clean fun was over. It was time to have a different kind of fun, and do something useful.

He was still mad at Toby, but damn, he loved the stupid bastard. Being thrown into the Hole was bad enough, but if Toby had killed Schillinger's son and not just beat him, death row would be his next stop. He wasn't going to let Toby's temper get the best of him.

He'd had a little talk with O'Reily. As soon as Hank Schillinger was out of Benchley Memorial, O'Reily was going to make sure Keller got some quality time with him.

* * *

At Benchley, Hank had a private room, but now he was stuck in the middle of the ward in Oz's infirmary. He decided to make the most of it because as soon as he was back in Unit B, he'd be under every eye again. Not that being surrounded by his father's flock had done him any good. Whoever that maniac was, he'd plowed through Hank's so-called protectors like a torpedo through a bunch of schoolgirls. Fucking pussies!

At least he'd had some privacy at the hospital, even if he had been handcuffed to the bed. As soon as the headache from his concussion had cleared, he'd taken every opportunity to flirt with the nurses. 

Carrie had come to visit, and had walked in on him while he had his hand up some candy striper's shirt. She'd whined about it, but had shut up when Hank told her to go buy him some hamburgers. Hospital food sucked.

Now that he was in the ward, the only pretty thing around was Dr. Nathan. She was a little old for his tastes, but still hot. Too bad she blew him off every time he tried to flirt with her.

Hank pushed the button that lifted the back of the bed so he could sit up. There were only two other people in the ward, and they were sleeping at the far end of the room. He was hurting, but there was no one else around. If someone didn't bring him some painkillers soon, he was going to start yelling.

Hank looked up at the clatter of the breakfast cart coming through, and Trey was pushing it.

“Hey, man!” Hank said, holding his hand out for a fist bump. “I didn't know you worked in the kitchen.”

“I don't,” Trey said. “I'm doing someone a favor. How you doin'?”

“I feel like shit, man. And nobody wants to tell me anything. Who was that asshole that fucked me up?”

Trey paused where he'd set the breakfast tray on the table. “You don't know?”

“How the hell would I know?”

Trey shook his head. “You telling me you don't recognize the man whose kids you kidnapped?”

“What?”

“Yeah. Tobias Beecher. He hates your old man, and your old man hates him. They have a mutual hate/hate relationship going on. I guess you're a part of it now, too. Better ask him for the deets. Around here, ignorance can get you killed.”

He pushed the rolling table across Hank's lap.

“Fuck! That's all I need. I didn't even know that guy was in prison. I thought he was some kind of rich lawyer.”

“He was,” Trey said. “Even rich lawyers fuck up. Too bad for you that your pops got on his bad side.”

Hank cursed again. His head was hurting, and where the hell was the fucking nurse?

“Hey, hey, chill out. I got something for you.” Trey dropped some tits on the table, and Hank snatched them up. “Listen, I'm getting out in a few weeks, so they're transferring me out of Unit B.”

“What? Goddamn, I can't catch a break. You're the only person I can talk to around there. I'm going to go out of my fucking mind.”

Trey snorted. “Yeah, thanks for the support.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, and all that. But you're getting out, and I'm stuck in here with my dad, and that crazy lawyer guy. What am I gonna do?”

“I don't know, man. Maybe we can have a little going away party.”

“Sure, man, whatever.”

Hank frowned as Trey rolled the cart away. Fuck, he was going to go batshit crazy long before he was eligible for parole.

Hank pried open the baggie of tits. At least he could make the pain go away.

* * *

The fight had been long, and bitter, and going on for nearly a week. The old man would tell him part of the story, then Hank would get mad, and they'd end up screaming at each other. They'd brought the hacks down on their heads twice already.

It hadn't been a simple kidnapping. Ohhh no, it was all about revenge, the worst reason to do anything. Money was one thing, but revenge? He'd always known his dad was stupid at the core, but not that stupid.

Now he was stuck in here, not just with his dad, but with some crazy fucker who had every reason to hate Hank. To top it off, Trey was leaving. He was going to have to find someone else to hook him up because there was no way he was going to make it in here without some help.

Hank had a pass to go to the library, but he turned down another corridor instead. The hack let him through without a second look. He'd meet up with Trey in the copy room before going back to Unit B for another showdown with his dad.

* * *

Chris peeked through the door into the copy room. It was a dank, little room with two old, cranky copy machines pushed against the back wall. A lopsided metal shelving unit held a few dust covered stacks of paper. Since the renovation of the staff area, no one came here to make copies unless they absolutely had to. Even Toby was allowed to use the new machines when he was about Sister Pete's business.

Chris shook himself to loosen up his shoulders. He could feel the charge building up in him as he waited. 

O'Reily had set up the time and the place, and he'd done a good job. The copy room had three entrances: the side door where Chris waited, the main door leading from the corridor, and a door across from Chris leading into a janitorial closet that was more of a junk room. Chris had checked everything before taking his place.

O'Reily had also set up his alibi. Officially, Chris was working in a storage room in another Unit. He'd had to walk through two check points to get here, but the hacks had been gone from their posts, and the doors unlocked. It had been a piece of cake getting here, and it would be just as easy getting back to the storage room.

The excitement of the hunt was making his skin tingle. He wasn't fooling himself that he was only doing this for Toby. Maybe, just a little, he was doing this for himself, too. He gripped his shank, and waited.

It didn't take long. The door leading into the corridor opened, and Hank Schillinger slipped into the room. Chris was about walk through his door, when the one across from him opened. 

Toby!

What the hell?

“Hello, Hank,” Toby said, that crazy grin on his face. 

Hank started to back up, but the door behind him opened, and an arm wrapped around his neck, holding him fast. Hands scrabbling at the arm, Hank grunted once, then again. His eyes rolled up as he gave a pained whimper. His movements slowed, then stopped as his legs gave out, and he slid to the floor, face down.

Chris entered the room, and stood next to Toby, both of them staring at the homeboy standing there with a bloody shank in his hand. 

“I did it for Carrie,” he said. “She deserves better.”

Then he was gone, and they were left standing there with a dead body on the floor.

“Who the hell is Carrie?” Toby asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Chris said.

Then they were staring at each other, bewilderment turning into hunger. He hadn't been this close to Toby in months. It was a hell of a lot different than watching him from across the quad or a crowded cafeteria. Over the coppery scent of blood, Chris could smell him, fresh and clean, soap and fabric softener, and a touch of that fancy shampoo his mother gave him.

The corner of Toby's mouth twitched. “Why grandma, what a big knife you have.”

Chris tried not to smile. “Can't say I'm too impressed with yours.”

“Bigger isn't always better,” Toby said.

“But then there's bigger _and_ better,” he said, tucking his shank into the back of his jeans. 

Toby's eyes heated. “I can agree with that.”

Then he cupped Chris's cheek in his hand, pulling him in, kissing him with desperate force. Chris wrapped his arms around Toby, and met his kisses with equal desperation until they had to stop long enough to catch their breath.

“We can't do this here,” Toby said, even as he trailed more kisses down Chris's neck.

Chris nipped at the edge of Toby's jaw, then pushed him away. 

“Please, don't,” Toby pleaded, hanging on.

Chris rested his forehead against Toby's. “We have to go.”

“I know, Chris. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything-- “

“Shhh, not now. We can't do this now.” His mouth was saying one thing, but his arms wouldn't let go.

“But we'll do this? We'll talk?”

“Talk? Yes, we'll talk.” Chris gave Toby another kiss, this one a promise. “And other things.”

Toby finally pulled away. “Soon?”

“As soon as we get out of here and set our alibis. You've got an alibi, right?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Courtesy of O'Reily.”

“You, too?”

Chris laughed. “I guess he wanted to make sure the job got done.”

“Do you think he sent that other guy, too?”

“Who knows with O'Reily.”

They shared another hungry look before Toby left through the janitorial closet door. Chris paused to study the body, and the expanding puddle of blood. 

He missed his chance this time, but he'd gotten something much better instead. He had Toby again, and if they were lucky, it might work out this time.

Anyway, there was always good ole Vern.

Chris checked to make sure the handle of the shank was covered by his shirt, then left the cooling body behind him.

* * *

She was exhausted, but too happy to sleep. The nurse had come in to take the baby so she could rest, but Carrie had refused to let the baby go. She never wanted to let go of this little baby girl that was all hers.

That was the absolute truth. With Hank gone, and her parent's not even showing up to see their granddaughter being born, Carrie was on her own. Sure, there was Hank's father, but the way he'd acted at the funeral had terrified her.

Some of Hank's friends from the neighborhood had come to the funeral, but when Mr. Schillinger had seen them walk through the door, he'd gone ballistic. He kept yelling that he didn't want no N-words coming to his son's funeral, and who the hell did they think they were, and he was going to kill them all. 

It had taken both guards to hold Mr. Schillinger back. Carrie had finally rushed over and told Hank's friends to leave, and she'd see them later to talk. But she wouldn't. She wasn't going back there. 

She wasn't going back to a place that held too many bad memories, and she sure wasn't going to bring her brand new baby girl there. She still had some of the money Hank had given her, and her old boss at the truck stop had told her she was welcome to come back to work whenever she was ready. Truckers were good tippers, so supporting herself, and the baby, wouldn't be a problem. Without Hank constantly needing money for his schemes or wanting new things (and who knew tattoos could be so expensive?) there wouldn't be such a drain on her money. Taking care of the baby would be her number one priority.

Her beautiful baby. After thirty-six hours of labor, it was still hard to believe this little person belonged to her. Pink, and wrinkled with a scrunched up face, she was still beautiful. And precious. A beautiful, precious jewel or a baby.

“Jewel.” Carrie tried the name out. She liked it. “Jewel Schillinger.”

She grimaced. No. She didn't want any part of that old life. Schillinger would have to go. She'd send Mr. Schillinger a picture of his granddaughter, and that would be the end of it. Carrie wasn't too fond of her maiden name either, but she had plenty of time to figure it out. Everything would be perfect if her luck completely changed, and she ran into her old boyfriend again. Jewel Everette. Carrie Everette. Mrs. Trey Everette.

It was a nice dream, but right now she was just going to hold her baby, and not worry about anything else.

The End


End file.
